


Pieces

by flutterflap



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 2x16 God Johnson, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, Missing Scene, Protective Chloe Decker, Short One Shot, drugged Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterflap/pseuds/flutterflap
Summary: The piece is here,Uriel had said.And his father never had been.***Missing scene from 2x16, “God Johnson”





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Because I cannot resist writing a drugged-up Lucifer, and that fade out after Chloe rescued him was begging for me to fill it in. I'm imagining a slightly expanded timeline from canon here.

“The piece is here.”

Lucifer bent to pick up the belt buckle from the floor. It sent a frission of divine energy through his fingers when he touched it. He closed his hand around it, felt the metal bite into his palm, still warm from his father’s—no, Earl Johnson’s—body heat. “Piece of what, brother?” he wondered. His tongue felt thick and dry, as though his mouth had been stuffed with cotton wool.

“Lucifer?”

A wave of dizziness washed over him as he stood up and he reached for something to steady himself. “Careful.” An arm wrapped around his waist. Chloe grunted when he leaned on her. “Oof.” 

“Detective?” He squinted down at her. His vision still swam around the edges, but he could focus on her if he concentrated. It was hard to do that and walk at the same time, though. The floor kept tilting under his feet, pitching and rolling as though he were on a boat.

“I’ve got you.” She steered him away from the two gurneys nurse Kippsy had had him and Earl Johnson strapped to. “Here. Sit.”

The chair she deposited him in rolled a few inches when his weight settled into it. “Oooh.” He reached down with his free hand and found a large wheel. He grinned up at her. “Lovely.” He gave himself a shove and rolled a few feet, turning in an arc. “I love a wheelchair. Go get another and we can race!”

Chloe rolled her eyes, but huffed a laugh as well. “Maybe later. Just—stay there, okay?”

“Okay.” Why did she sound so worried? He rolled himself back and forth a few times, then became aware that he was clutching something in his other hand. He looked down at it.

 _The piece is here,_ Uriel had said.

And his father never had been.

***

It was late by the time Chloe got Lucifer into her car. It had taken another two hours to wrap up the arrest and to convince Garrity to let her take Lucifer home. By then he’d given up rolling up and down the hall outside Garrity’s office to sit and stare into space, giddiness replaced by a dreamy melancholy. Perhaps it would have been better to leave him for the night, given the massive dose of what was apparently an antipsychotic medication that Kippsy woman had given him, but Chloe felt better once they’d pulled away from the place and got on the highway. She didn’t exactly blame herself for what had happened—she had followed the evidence—but she should have been more thorough, looked more closely at the staff. Should have taken Lucifer and his findings more seriously. 

Shouldn’t have left him alone there to be drugged and nearly killed.

“He wasn’t my father after all.”

Lucifer’s voice, slurred and vague, pulled her from her thoughts. Chloe looked sidelong at him, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d gotten in the car, and he sounded so sad she couldn’t bring herself to say the obvious: of course he wasn’t. If nothing else, he was far too young; Chloe didn’t think Earl Johnson could be more than ten years older than Lucifer. Certainly not old enough to be his dad.

She reached over and patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it did, she knew that. Whatever else was going on, Lucifer had clearly _wanted_ to believe that Earl Johnson was his father. 

She frowned, a thought occurring to her. “Lucifer, when was the last time you saw your dad?”

“A few thousand years ago.” He glanced at her. “Why?”

She sighed. “Nothing. Never mind.” Of course she wouldn’t get a straight answer from him. Still, even that obfuscation made a certain amount of sense. If he hadn’t seen his father in a long time, she reasoned, maybe he’d seen a memory of his father in Earl Johnson. Maybe he looked like the younger father he remembered from when he was a child.

“He said he was proud of me,” Lucifer said, wistful.

“Who?”

“Dad. Mr. Johnson. When he thought he was my dad.” He looked down. He had taken something from his pocket and was turning it over and over in his hands. It gleamed silvery in the streetlights. “My real dad never said that to me,” he continued after a moment. He went back to looking out the window. “I was never the son he wanted me to be.”

Chloe’s throat closed painfully. God knew she had a difficult relationship with her mother, but she couldn’t imagine feeling like either of her parents thought of her as a failure. And whatever his eccentricities, Lucifer wasn’t exactly a disappointment. He was smart, successful, creative—and yes, he could be thoughtless and impulsive and self-centered, but she had come to realize how much of that was a front, meant to protect himself. She’d seen that he could also be generous. Brave. Kind. And he _tried._ He wanted to be good, to do good in the world. What kind of parent would be disappointed by that?

“He would be wrong,” she said at last, finding her voice again. She pulled into the alley behind Lux. He looked at her quizzically. “Your dad. He would be an idiot not to be proud of you.”

A tiny, hopeful smile curved his lips. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so. Come on.” She patted his knee. “Let’s go upstairs.”

***

The detective insisted on seeing him upstairs and to bed, even though Lucifer kept assuring her he was fine (and he thought he was mostly convincing, even though his ability to walk still seemed a bit compromised).

“You don’t have to stay,” he told her. “I’m fine. Really.” He sat on the edge of his bed, fumbling at the buttons on his shirt. His fingers were too big. He held up his hand in front of his face. It _looked_ normal, but when he tried the buttons they had inflated again. 

Chloe squatted in front of him and took over. “Doctor’s orders. Someone has to keep an eye on you tonight.”

A smile pulled at his mouth. “Realllly?” he drawled, looking up at her through his lashes.

She swatted at him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You don’t have to. Bed’s big enough for two. Or more. Once, I had—” 

“I _really_ don’t want to know.” She helped him shrug out of his shirt and jacket. When he started on his trousers, she leapt to her feet and turned around, shielding her eyes. “Please tell me you don’t need help with your pants.”

He giggled. “Pants,” he repeated. “Good word. _Pants._ ” He shoved his to the floor and crawled under the covers. Chloe glanced around cautiously, one hand poised to cover her eyes again.

“Relax, Detective, I’m decent.” He stretched his arms and legs out, enjoying the feel of the sheets against his skin. It felt good to be back and in a proper size bed. His feet had hung off the end of one at the hospital.

The mattress shifted beside him and a hand fell on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?” Chloe asked.

“The room won’t stop spinning.” It was a little better with his eyes closed. The sensation of falling was almost pleasant. He hoped landing wouldn’t hurt too much.

The hand on his shoulder moved to his cheek, rested there for a moment, and withdrew. “You should be back to normal in the morning.”

“Okay.”

The mattress shifted again as she stood up. He sensed her standing there, hesitating. “If you—if you want to talk about your dad . . .” She trailed off. 

He dragged his eyes open. She was looking down at him uncertainly. It made him smile, briefly, before the thought of his father made his stomach sour. “I don’t want to talk about him. Ever again.” He had other plans than _talking_.

She pressed her lips together. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here for you.”

He heard her soft step on the rug, and then the light turned out. He sank down into the dark and dreamed of fire, and vengeance.


End file.
